


Transparent

by Scrunyuns



Category: Fargo (2014)
Genre: M/M, shameless fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-19
Updated: 2015-04-19
Packaged: 2018-03-21 14:07:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3695183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scrunyuns/pseuds/Scrunyuns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Living with Wrench is becoming a bit too much. Numbers needs a drink.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Transparent

**Author's Note:**

> This is for kalewolfson on tumblr: Honey, I apologize in advance for the trash you're about to read.
> 
> (I posted a prompt for this on tumblr but nobody got onto it so I just did it myself. *shrug*)

Between jobs there's never much for Numbers to do except loitering in the apartment with Wrench; talking to Wrench, eating with Wrench, watching TV with Wrench, playing cards with Wrench, watching Wrench lift weights... It's like their apartment is a desert island and Wrench is his only shipwrecked companion. It's driving him up the wall.

Wrench shacking up with him had seemed like such a good idea at first. Practical. But lately, being around his partner 24/7 seems to have been putting some seriously unprofessional ideas into his head. And to top it off, Wrench has started wearing less and less around the apartment - it's like he _knows_ , the sly bastard. Numbers makes frequent trips to the bathroom nowadays, praying to every deity he can think of that he's not being too transparent.

_I-B-S?_ Wrench spells out with a wry grin on his face.

_I'm going for a walk,_ Numbers replies, ignoring his partner when he asks to tag along.

He needs to get away. Moreover, he needs go and get absolutely _shitfaced._

\---

When he finally returns, drunk as a skunk, it's pitch black throughout the apartment. Wrench is fast asleep on the sofa, snoring softly. _Oh, t_ _hank God_ , Numbers thinks as he lets out a shaky breath.

He doesn't drink very often, on account of the job, so his tolerance is nothing to write home about. The six bottles of beer he'd knocked back seem to have done a number on him and he bumps into every imaginable piece of furniture on his way through the apartment, swearing a blue streak with each toe stub.

His brain is telling him to go to bed, but his legs seem to have other ideas; they take him across the living room floor, graceless but determined, over to his sleeping partner. He stands there for a bit, swaying, before he leans forward and brings his index finger to Wrench's bare back.

'I-L-O-V-E-Y-O-U' he spells out clumsily, in all caps. 'I-D-I-O-T' he adds, after some consideration. He doesn't want come off as too sentimental.

Numbers stands up and admires his invisible work. Then he goes to the bathroom to throw up, and passes out over the toilet bowl.

\---

He wakes up with a headache like his brain is trying to squeeze itself out through his nose. He's in his own bed, not entirely sure how he got there. He can't even remember the walk home. _I'm never drinking again,_ Numbers tells himself for about the bajillionth time in his life. 

A wonderful smell wafts through the apartment: Wrench is making pancakes.

After a piss, a shower, and brushing his teeth fervently to get rid of that rancid taste in his mouth, Numbers tentatively makes his way into the kitchen and plops down in one of rickety chairs by the kitchen table.

_Morning, sunshine_ , Wrench signs and pops one of the pancakes on a plate. _Breakfast?_

Numbers merely nods, shoving his hands into the pockets of his bathrobe.

_You look like warmed-over shit._

_Thanks,_ Numbers signs with a scowl.

Wrench snorts derisively as he brings out the chocolate sauce from the cupboard and starts dousing Numbers' pancake in it.

"No, no fucking chocolate sauce," Numbers groans, as if his partner could actually hear him. "God..."

Wrench walks over with a plate in each hand and places one on the table in front of his partner. Numbers, not even looking at his food, scowls at him.

_You know damn well I prefer maple syrup._

_Chocolate sauce is easier to write with,_ Wrench signs as he takes a seat across from him. _Just fucking eat it._

_To write with?_ Numbers looks down to find a message on his pancake, written in perfect cursive:

'I love you too, dickbreath'

He peers up at his partner. Wrench is laying into his own pancake as he stares back at him, deadpan, and the memory of last night comes rushing in like a tidal wave. _Fuck._

Numbers gets up from his seat, makes his way over to the counter, and demonstratively grabs the bottle of chocolate sauce. Walking up to his partner, he snatches his plate from underneath his knife and fork. Wrench frowns as Numbers writes out in big, ugly, brown letters:

'LIKE HOW, FUCKFACE?'

Wrench chuckles silently and leans back in his chair, considering the words for a moment. He then stands up with a sigh, towering over Numbers even as his partner tries in vain to straighten himself out and look really tall and imposing.

_Like this_ , he signs and cups his partner's dick through his bathrobe.

Numbers closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, swaying for a moment before Wrench steadies him with a firm grip around his arm.

"Okay," Numbers says, swallowing hard as he feels his dick growing in Wrench's deft hand. "That's... that's good to know."

_You're so fucking transparent,_ Wrench signs with a fond smile, and places a soft kiss on his lips.


End file.
